


Terms of Surrender

by bigsliggoo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair/Zevran mention, Blood, Blood Magic, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Zevran/Warden - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsliggoo/pseuds/bigsliggoo
Summary: Two men go for a walk in the woods. Neither is a good man, but one is probably worse than the other.





	Terms of Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: actual, literal sexual content is very mild, hence the lack of Category and the M rating (as opposed to E). There is no actual sexual violence in this fic, mentioned or otherwise, but there are some strong non-con elements in a more abstract sense and I wouldn't want to surprise anyone with that.

Ash sat on a log by the fire, watching the tent across from him through the flecks of light. He had not been so interested in that spot when it was Alistair who camped there. Alistair certainly was a lovely boy, and he had once possessed a modicum of importance and influence. He was a year older than Ash, but Ash thought he seemed younger, almost childlike despite his combat experience. This contrast certainly piqued his interest for a time, but never to this degree of intensity. As he continued his half-hearted fantasies of Alistair, another more willing partner appeared. A very willing partner, in fact. Ash and Zevran were equals, and Ash found he quite liked it that way. It was almost thrilling to let another have such influence over him. Though Zevran generally submitted to him in bed, Ash took great care in listening to his partner's needs and desires. The man was actually happy to submit, to Ash's surprise. It was unlike any relationship he had ever experienced. Ash was quite sure this was what people referred to as “love,” but he was scared to ask, lest he let on that he was actually quite clueless when it came to matters of the heart.

What he felt now for this man across the campfire was not what he felt for Zevran. This was not love in any form. This was perfectly equivalent to the feelings he had once for Alistair, and his feelings for Alistair were equivalent to those he had felt once for his mentor in the Circle, and for an old rival apprentice. His childish crush on the apprentice ended in a midnight tryst in the bathroom followed by a bloody murder, but Ash never had any intention of doing that to Alistair. He had since gained the expertise he needed to avoid such a waste. Besides, there was no real thrill in doing anything to Alistair if he didn't live long enough to lay claim to the crown of Ferelden.

In the end, his infatuation with Alistair came to more closely mirror that that he had held for his mentor. He would be denied his satisfaction, and he would become dangerously bitter. Even as he and Zevran became close, his feelings for the two men were never in conflict. When Ash began to share his interest in Alistair with Zevran, the man simply laughed and joined in his pursuit. The two made advances on Alistair day after day, until one day Ash began to feel uncomfortable. For a month, he stirred over what made him feel this way. He was unused to introspection, but eventually he determined that he and Zevran wanted different things from Alistair. Zevran was only humoring him when he agreed that Alistair was a fine prize to be won. On a rather pleasant and peaceful night at a tavern in Denerim, Alistair himself made an admittedly tentative proposal to the two of them. Zevran leapt on the offer, but for once in his life, Ash felt reluctant. After a careful discussion, Ash convinced Zevran to go without him to Alistair’s bedroom.

He was not jealous of either of them. He was not bitter about them sleeping together. He was incredibly bitter, however, that he would never get what he wanted from Alistair. After he left his two friends to their revelry, he stepped outside into the cool air and wandered into his favorite dirty alleyway near the Alienage. A grimy elf child, perhaps twelve years of age, found her unfortunate hands in the pocket of the wrong traveler. Ash let the girl begin slinking away with a few sovereigns before pulling out his dragonbone knife and dragging it along his palm. As his black blood hit the ground, the girl stopped in her tracks. This was the side of him that Zevran did not particularly care for. He tolerated it as a part of Ash that could not be changed, but he did not enjoy seeing it. Ash could tell that Zevran had truly grown fond of Alistair, and so had Ash, but for Zevran this meant that Alistair’s blood was not to be touched. As he brought the girl’s neck to rest neatly in his hand, pressing gently to feel the quickening of her pulse, he seethed. Zevran had taught him many of the rules that controlled other folk, that limited their power, their fun. But Ash would never understand why Alistair’s suffering would not be worth the intense high he would experience. He ran his knife gently along the girl’s neck, not hard enough to pierce anything important. How much more exhilarating this would be with the son of King Maric himself, he thought. How foolish of him to let someone stand in the way of what he wanted!

Ash violently whipped his knife back across the girl’s throat, cutting deep into her neck and spraying himself in blood. So much for healing her up and sending her on her way. It had been almost a week since he last killed an innocent, so Zevran could only be so mad at him. The man was a trained killer, but he claimed that Ash did not share his “respect for life.” What a load of bullshit. There were so many things that Ash did not understand, but for some reason, being with Zevran made him withhold his judgments on occasion. Thus, he had no intention of betraying Zevran, but that did not mean he could not be filled with an indescribable rage at having to conform to rules. He repaired the girl’s corpse and left it where it would be found in the morning.

Zevran sensed in his partner that something was wrong. Ash assured him ad nauseum that he was not jealous. He got the feeling that Zevran did not entirely understand, because despite Ash’s assurance, he never found him in Alistair’s bed after that night. From then on, the two of them maintained a friendly distance from Alistair. Ash was mostly satisfied with the more conventional sort of intimacy he had with Zevran. Zevran liked to claim that their nights together were far from conventional, but Ash found them so heartwarmingly domestic that it gave him butterflies. Despite his satisfaction with his relationship, he still found his mind wandering to the things he so strongly longed to do but could never do to Zevran. Killing urchins was only good to blow off some steam, not to fully satisfy him. If another target appeared in his life, he would be much more clear about what he intended. And no one would stand in his way.

When he saw the man who would replace Alistair across the fire, the man whose name he had heard so much but only met for a moment, he felt a spark light within him. For a second, he was consumed with thought, lost in his imagination. His silver tongue slipped and he remembered that he was speaking to the Queen’s regent. At any cost, he would have that man as his own.

Fate worked in his favor, and across the fire from him lay the Hero of River Dane, Loghain Mac Tir. Unable to contain his excitement, Ash shared his intentions with Zevran on the first day out of Denerim. He laid out his plan very clearly this time. For five days, he had continually checked that he still had Zevran’s approval to go forward. Ash could tell that his partner was somewhat disappointed in the disappearance of Alistair, but he had no qualms with any sort of violence against this man. For those five days, he treated the Teyrn quite favorably, allowing him plenty of space to become acclimated. Ash planned to remain as accommodating as possible for the duration of their time together, save for times like tonight. Behind him he could hear Zevran snoring gently, peacefully asleep with the knowledge of what Ash would attempt. There was no guarantee that this would work if the Teyrn was not compliant. In fact, he could almost certainly resist Ash if he tried. Ash was both aroused by and relying on what he imagined of Loghain’s sense of defeat. He polished his knife absent-mindedly with his robe, the blackest one he owned.

Ash stood up. He looked around him to confirm once again who of his companions were asleep. He didn't mind anyone seeing him, but it amused him to know. Of his companions that were capable of sleep, only Morrigan was awake, sitting by her own lonely campfire. He walked around to the tent that didn't match the others and he pulled aside one of the flaps. For a moment, the dark figure inside remained still, perhaps hoping that the flap would close again. After Ash remained crouched, an unmoving silhouette against the campfire, the figure stirred. He looked at Ash expectantly.

“What is it?” Loghain asked after giving Ash ample time to speak. “Darkspawn?”

“No,” said Ash, “I just wanted to talk to you about something before we get going tomorrow.”

“And you couldn't mention this to me before I went to sleep?”

“You weren't sleeping.” It was a guess. Ash noted the faint gleam of light in the rings of the Teyrn’s hauberk.

Loghain sighed. “Right. Mage. Well, if you want me to be in fighting shape tomorrow, I suggest you let me keep trying.” He returned to the position Ash found him in.

“Will you fall asleep?” Ash asked. The man turned halfway back to him. “What’s one walk?” He was beaming with excitement, but there was no way Loghain could tell in this light. “It’s late, so most everyone is sleeping. I think it’s about time we figured out what the plan is.”

“The plan for what? You don't mean for me.”

“I do mean you.” Ash had to bite his lip to avoid grinning from cheek to cheek.

“I assumed the plan was for me to kill darkspawn until I drop dead, like everyone else, but if you've got some more ideas…” The man sighed and slowly began rising. “If this will stop you peeking in my tent…” Ash waited as the older man pulled on a pair of leather boots.

He walked to the dirt path, going nowhere in particular, and Loghain followed. Ash noted the dirk strapped to his leg. For a few minutes they walked and Ash felt that one of Loghain’s eyes was always on him. He seemed tired, weary from a lack of sleep as well as the preceding months’ events. His posture was always that of a soldier, even in this state, but his leery eyes were blank. Ash wished he would relax a little so he didn't tower over him so much.

“Do I just call you Loghain? You’re not still a--”

“Not a Teyrn anymore, no.”

“Well, Loghain, then. You should know, tomorrow we’ll be heading south. To Ostagar,” Ash said.

“And what are your expectations for me there? I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

Ash smiled. “I doubt it. I know that’s probably what some of them want to see, but not me. In fact, I only bring it up to warn you.”

Loghain raised an eyebrow. 

“It drives me mad watching people writhe in their remorse,” Ash continued. “The tears and whining and expecting you to pity them. For their own actions." He looked up from his gesticulations. "We’re better off without it, no?”

“If you think I don’t feel remorse about Ostagar, you’re just as stupid as those who think I should lay down and die because of it,” Loghain snapped.

“Oh no, no,” Ash quickly responded. “That’s not what I was implying. Necessarily. Life would just be easier, more efficient. It’s just talk.”

“Do you feel remorse about your fellow Warden? The bastard?”

“You mean Alistair? Alistair is fine. I do miss him sometimes, though. He could be pretty funny.” Ash smiled, reminiscing.

“That sounds like regret,” Loghain pointed out. “I mean remorse.”

Ash pondered. “Hm… No. Why would I? He’s alive and well.”

“And only because the assassin convinced you to argue for his release.”

“And I listened, didn’t I?” said Ash.

"Would you feel remorse if you had let Anora execute him?" he asked. "Knowing you had the power to stop it?"

"Eh, what's it matter to you? I know you wanted him dead as much as her," Ash said. He was genuinely confused.

"It would be in Ferelden's best interest," Loghain replied, a hint of sadness in his voice. "It's better to have those that history will forget out of the way sooner rather than later... But that's not the point." He walked with his hands folded behind his back, eyes straight forward. 

"You're absolutely right," said Ash. "I should have killed him myself, a long time ago. I thought about it, but that was when there was still a chance he would be king, and I couldn't let that go to waste. I just thought it would be hilarious, you know what I mean? Just imagine." He giggled.

Loghain slowed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It is the Maker’s will that I am at the mercy of a child," he spoke, mostly to himself. "How old are you?"

"Twenty now," Ash replied happily. 

"If you live to be thirty," he continued, "I hope by then you will have picked up an ounce of sense. If I were to guess and be entirely honest, I would say you will not.”

“You have no faith in me,” Ash replied. “I get it, I get it. I'm being insensitive, tone-deaf. I'm sorry. I've been working on it, though. Everything in the best interest of Ferelden! That's the big motto.” He puffed out his chest in an unconscious attempt to mimic the older man's posture.

“I meant to say that you will not live to be thirty,” said Loghain, gravely. He stopped and faced Ash directly. The shadows of his eye sockets made him look skeletal. Despite the shadow, Ash could still see much of the whites of his eyes. “Even if you survive this Blight.”

Ash was speechless. “I…” he began. He hated being at a loss for words. For some reason, he could think of no rebuttal to this. For a brief moment, he had no thoughts, only a mind-numbing fear. It took a rivulet of warm blood crawling to the tip of his chin to wrest him from his paralysis. He was having a nosebleed. It was unlike him to lose himself--Loghain would pay soon enough for this discomfort. “Don’t tell me you’ve never wished you were like me.”

“What, without remorse? Thinking life and death is a game?”

“Oh, yes! That’s exactly how I am!” Ash replied, returning to his jovial mood.

“Deplorable," Loghain spat. "Well, I have thought about it. So has every man in this world.”

“Do you ever fantasize about it, though? Does it bring you peace, to imagine the things you could do if you were like me?”

“It’s a fleeting peace. Eventually, we all return to reality,” said Loghain.

“You’d be amazed the things you can accomplish in reality if you let go of all these rules you give yourself,” said Ash. “You talked about the chevaliers, once. If you found a chevalier without all his entourage, what would you do? When was the last time your sword tasted Orlesian blood?”

“You’re mad.” Loghain began turning back toward camp. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” he demanded.

“You have no governing responsibility anymore. Let’s go on an outing after all this, a hunting trip, you and me.” Ash noticed his quarry starting to walk away. “Keep walking, we can even start now. The red-head. Do you know which tent is hers?”

“She’s Fereldan.”

“That’s not what you said earlier, Loghain.” Ash padded along behind him. “You should see the blue satin shoes with puppies embroidered on the toes. They're right there in her tent, go check 'em out. Those sweet white dogs that drool and warm your lap while you sit on a fine silk couch--oh, and when she sings in Orlesian! Delicately plucking her lute with those soft, white hands that have never had to work a field, never had to hold a shield and defend anyone. It just warms the heart, soothes the soul. Ah, but she’s not Orlesian, no.

“There’s no joy to be had in standing over her in the moonlight, sword in hand. You take her completely by surprise. You make her feel the way you felt. You could kill her quickly, bring your blade down so it lands square in her neck. You could make her suffer. Make her bleed like you’ve bled. Run your blade down her torso, through those fine purple sleeping clothes she keeps. Recreate on her all the scars you have on your own body, and ask her how it makes her feel. Does she feel sorry? When you’re satisfied, leave her to bleed out, and never be seen again. She’s Fereldan, though, so there’s no point. A man of remorse wouldn’t do this to a Fereldan woman. But if she were Empress Celene herself, my good Teyrn, something tells me--”

Loghain spun around with incredible speed, driving his right fist into Ash’s face, knocking him into the dirt. Everything flashed white. When Ash began to rise, he kicked him hard in the gut. The elf remained still in the grass next to the dirt path. Loghain looked down at him for a moment, then continued on his way back to camp.

Ash tasted dirt and iron in his mouth. That sweet, sweet iron. There was a searing pain in his face and he was struggling for breath. With what breath he had, he could not help but snicker. His snickering became giggling, then a full fit of laughter, ugly laughter. This was the laugh he never used in polite company. It hurt him as he convulsed, but he didn’t hold back. He grew drunk on the pain in his face and body. No one had ever punched him before! It was such a firm, passionate punch, that he felt himself grow hot. He lifted his hand to feel around his nose and mouth. It was a bloody mess, too painful to deduce anything. As he focused his power, the hot blood on his fingers turned into a mist that obscured his vision. This was not a problem, as with this newfound energy, he could sense Loghain walking away from him. He could sense his every muscle still tense and his heart still beating fast.

He released a gasp as he channeled all of his energy into the man. Loghain would not take another step towards camp. “Don't walk away from me, my friend.” His breath had returned to him and laboriously he rose to sitting. The older man hovered before him with his boots brushing the ground. Gurgles and mutters escaped him while Ash fought his way through his mind. He rotated around to face Ash and began speaking in strange, stilted voices.

"Oh, magnificent Warden! Ser Surana, please spare me, I'll do anything you ask! Take my land, my title, kill my wife and son, just please let me live!"

"Oh ho hon, qui n’avance pas, recule! Pour la gloire de la Orlais!"

"All men are the work of our Maker, from the highest of kings to the most lowly, treacherous, dog-fucking generals."

"Ooh, Cailan--yes! Right there, just like that!"

Those were all the words Ash could cram into his mouth before he started to lose control. The Teyrn was as strong as he expected. Loghain’s jaw twitched and stuttered until his head snapped forward and his wide-eyed glare returned. "You! Maleficar!" he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. His arms started to convulse as well.

"Since when were you opposed to that?" Ash jeered.

He laughed and released Loghain. Ash was expecting this to come as a surprise, but the man began lunging for him the moment he hit the ground. Within a second, Loghain had closed the gap and grabbed Ash by the collar. He hoisted him into the air and tore his dirk from its sheath. When Ash felt the blade press against his throat and a tree slam against his back, he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning.

"I should kill you right now," snarled Loghain. "I'd be doing the world a service."

"Yeah, you probably would be. What's stopping you?"

Loghain simply glared at him with bloodshot eyes. Ash took this time to channel his energy into his own body, shifting his nose back to where it used to be. He felt like he didn't get it quite right, but he could always fix it later. The dirk pressed harder into his skin and a small elated gasp escaped his lips.

"You're getting off on this," said Loghain.

"I feel like you and I are really getting to know each other, don't you? It's kind of sweet," he taunted.

“You know nothing about me.”

Ash tried to shrug. “What do I stand to gain by having you slit my throat on a dirt path in the middle of the night?” His cape pulled on his neck and it was hard to speak.

“And what more can I possibly lose? If this is all part of your retribution, then know that I do not fear death. I do not fear pain.” Loghain squinted at the dark forest around him.

“You think too highly of me,” chided Ash. “You could kill me now and there is nothing I could do about it. If you sever the arteries in my neck, no amount of blood magic will save me in time. No, Loghain, no one is dying here tonight.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“You won’t kill me. Not yet, at least."

"And why is that?"

Ash switched his entire demeanor to his carefully practiced benevolent facade. It was a little strange in this position, but he did his best. He smiled gently. "Only I can give you what you need.” Loghain’s expression did not change. Ash pinned this on impressive self-control. It was impossible that he was mistaken. He would not have gotten this far if he was not perfectly correct in his assumptions. “Who else can give you the chance to die satisfied with yourself? Who else will take you in?"

"Bending my knee to a tyrant will absolve me of nothing."

"I know you've had the nightmares by now. You've seen the Archdemon," Ash spoke slowly and deliberately. "You know this is our best chance to kill it. I am our best chance. You should know better than anyone that heroics don't win wars."

Loghain's arm was beginning to shake. He brushed sweat off his forehead with the hand that held the dirk and then shoved the blade back in its sheath. His hand lingered on the hilt for a few seconds as he reconsidered his situation. Ash had never seen him look more like a sad old man. Suddenly, he yanked the smaller man in close, causing him to flinch. "I will not kill you," he hissed. "Yet. I'm giving you the chance to leave me alone and we can forget everything that happened tonight until the Archdemon is dead."

"I thought you were above pretending," squeaked Ash. His voice was choked up but his heart soared. He was generally quite self-assured, but sometimes Loghain’s expression could make him genuinely nervous. "I said we were going to talk about what to do with you, what our working relationship is going to be. Now put me down." For a moment, he continued to hover there in expectant silence. Just as the elf was beginning to slide out of his clothes, Loghain released him. His slipper-like boots hit the ground with a soft thump. "There," said Ash. "Now let's pray you haven't messed up this cape. It was expensive." He patted down the knot of stiff fabric over his collarbone. When it failed to return to its original shape, he scowled but held his tongue. It was a unique Tevinter import!

Quietly, Loghain spoke, "Ferelden may think of you as a hero. Perhaps you even have Anora fooled." He cocked his head and crossed his arms. His eyes resumed their usual hawkish vigilance. "But someday they will learn who you really are. I need not even tell them myself."

"I suppose they will," Ash mused. This was something he had thought about a lot. He imagined himself safely seated on the bed of some handsome noble, perhaps in Nevarra or Rivain, with Zevran's head on his lap and a chalice of wine in his hand, when news arrives that the legendary Grey Warden Commander Ash Surana is a bloodthirsty maleficar. The thought made him chuckle.

"And when that day comes," Loghain continued, "mages everywhere will pay for your trespasses."

Ash laughed heartily. "So what? Are you trying to guilt trip me?" The other man inhaled as if to respond, but changed his mind. "Take off the hauberk. And the doublet, and anything else underneath," he commanded.

"Why?" demanded Loghain, shifting to a defensive stance.

Ash shook his head. He knew that would be a long shot. Instead of pressing further, he commanded Loghain's hands to grab the bottom of his mail shirt. The older man growled and began tearing his hands away from Ash until he was met with a patronizingly reprimanding look. He refused to look at Ash as his shirt was lifted off of him. The force controlling his arms was struggling to undo the clasps of his doublet, so it allowed him to furiously undo them himself.

In a voice more accusative than defensive, he repeated, "Why?"

Ash did nothing to conceal his interest in Loghain's body as it was exposed. "I'm not going to use blood magic and have my way with you, if that's what you're worried about." He looked back up at the man's face to see his reaction. "Unless, of course, you would rather--"

"No," Loghain interrupted him quickly. "No. And no, that is not my primary concern." All that was left to remove was a tight-fitting cloth undershirt. Bitterly, but of his own volition, he pulled it off and balled it in his hand. "Well?"

"Turn this way." Ash reached out to touch Loghain's arm and guide him until he reached the perfect angle for the moonlight to shine on his torso. His body was about what Ash had deduced from using magic to control it. Strong muscles ran beneath heavily scarred and weathered skin. They weren't muscles that would win him any favor as a comfort boy at the Pearl, but they were clearly effective. What Ash did not expect, however, was the chest hair. He was not sure how he felt about it. "That's it. Unless you'd rather lay down. Why don't you lay down?"

"For what?" Loghain barked, impatient. "Tell me what the hell you’re doing."

"Listen," said Ash, trying to stifle his excitement. "I'm going to look at your body," he explained, "on the outside, and on the inside." He smiled malevolently. "But don't worry; I will never hurt you. Permanently. For now. In fact, I'll make you stronger. You're more use to me with your knee fixed." Loghain's expression did not change other than a narrowing of his eyes. Ash supposed he would have to try harder.

"How do you know about my knee?" was his response.

Ash rolled his eyes. It was like he didn’t even hear the rest! "That skill isn't even blood magic. It's basic healing magic, half the apprentices can do it." The part about the apprentices was a lie. "You're in a lot of pain. Horrible pain. You have been since that duel with--"

"The golem," Loghain interrupted, seemingly ruminating on the subject. "The woman that treated me in Denerim said that the swelling would go down. I don't think she was too pleased to have me as her patient."

Ash smiled with crooked teeth. "And why would she be? Luckily for you--or perhaps unluckily--I am quite pleased to have you. Now, you really do need to lay down for this part. Or sit, but preferably lay down."

Loghain glanced around for a moment before conceding and lowering himself to sit on the yellowing grass. His left leg was bent and his right leg was stretched out before him. He never took his eyes off Ash as they dropped to sitting and to a crouch, respectively. He looked down pensively. "Am I really so useful to you? Is that why you've done all this?" he asked.

"What's 'all this'? Sparing your life?" Ash pulled off Loghain's boot, watching him. He took his silence for a confirmation. "I thought you would have picked up on it by now. Well, for one thing, it's not nearly as fun killing a man when someone else tells me to do it." He rolled up the man's pants and placed his fingers gently on the knee. It was red and swollen, disgustingly so. He could tell it chafed against the man’s armor. "There's plenty of practicality in having you undergo the Joining. But practicality isn't really what drives me. There’s some experiences out there that I must have, like getting inside your blood for example. I’m drawn to things like that. Things of power, of importance." He looked up at Loghain and smiled. "You've got me telling you the truth, you know, telling you all about me. I don't do that often."

Loghain seemed unimpressed. "Don't get too flattered," he said. "There have always been people like you and there always will be. Agh! Maker!" He went for his dirk.

"Relax. Let's just say that woman in Denerim may have done more harm than good," Ash explained. With magical fingers, he had a hold on a section of nerve in Loghain's knee, and he was pinching up and down its length. In all likelihood, the healer had probably tried her best. It seemed the duel with Shale had only aggravated an underlying issue.

“As I was saying, ” Loghain continued, “I don't find you that interesting.” His scowl seemed to deepen but otherwise he stopped reacting to the pain. Impressive.

Ash put a hand on his chest. "Ouch, Loghain. I'm hurt," he said coyly. "I'm not lying to you. It hurts that you would try to deceive me in return." He ground the bones in Loghain's knee together one last time (to no response), then repaired it for good. Bits of energy drifted off the swollen knee like wisps of white smoke. "Were you not interested in me when you held that blade against my neck, or when you punched me so hard I couldn't see?" He released some of the magical stitches he had created earlier so that a thin stream of blood ran from his nose down to his lip. Like a lover, he began to delicately crawl forward over Loghain's body until they were face to face, nearly straddling the larger man, who backed down, visibly uncomfortable, to rest on his elbows. Ash's long black hair fell in waves on either side of their faces. "You'd love to do it again. I might even let you if you ask nicely." From this distance, Ash could see that the eyes glaring at him were a lovely blue. "But you do fear death. So for now, you'll continue tolerating me as if I were a sweet Chantry maid."

He withdrew to kneel curtly by Loghain's side. The man said nothing to interrupt Ash's enjoyment. He inhaled several times as if to say something, but in every case he held his tongue. "How's this?" said Ash, siphoning energy from the exposed skin before him through his fingertips and into his body. His face became that of a beautiful young woman with flowing golden hair and standard Chantry vestments. He could neither see nor feel the illusion himself, but he was quite confident in its realism. Ash blinked slowly with large green eyes and placed his thin, pale hands on the Teyrn's abdomen. "Am I interesting now?" he sang in a high-pitched voice. He pressed just hard enough to feel the contours of the muscles within and channel energy back into their folds.

Loghain's expression was becoming more and more empty. His eyebrows were raised as if to assist his eyelids in carrying their own weight. Those sharp blue eyes focused in and out. With his steely resolve, it was possible that he may have stayed awake for days now without notice. That was fine. He would sleep tonight, at least for a few hours, and he would feel twenty years younger when he woke the next morning. It warmed Ash's heart to know that he could have this man even more in his debt, and so quickly.

"You're so tired, my lord," Ash said sweetly. He took care to push his much shorter hair behind his shoulders so that the phantom blonde locks didn't fade through Loghain's body. "Let me heal you," he spoke softly. His hands traveled parallel to the trail of dark hair that disappeared under rough grey trousers. "I can make you feel so much better..." He coaxed blood deep below the skin to follow his hands downward. Ash's heart beat fast. He looked up as he stroked through the fabric.

Loghain stared at his pants, not back at the woman before him, with an expression that Ash could not discern. His head tilted back to face the night sky. He sighed deeply and rubbed his face laboriously with his hands, laying down against the dirt and grass. His face was out of sight, so naturally Ash assumed that it had arousal written across it. However, when he noticed his belt being undone, Loghain snapped back up. He quickly shifted his weight up onto his hands and feet and shuffled a few feet away from Ash as though he had just woken from a bad dream.

“Stop,” Loghain hissed, continuing to rub his face. He rose to his feet and put his head in his hands.

Ash released his facade. He perched on the balls of his feet and cocked his head like a bird. “Is there someone you’d prefer?” He cycled through a select few faces that he thought Loghain might be familiar with: Isolde, Ser Cauthrien, Riordan, Leliana. His illusions weren't good enough yet to pass as their targets to someone who knew them, but they were recognizable.

"Just stop," Loghain repeated. "If you plan only to humiliate me, then by all means do it, but do not waste my time." After dozing off for a bit, he seemed to have regained some fighting spirit. Ash was pleased to see it. He noticed the man shifting his weight from leg to leg, testing his knee.

Ash rose, hands on his hips. Under his right hand was the hilt of his dagger. "Okay, okay. You're right. I get carried away," he admitted, shaking his head and staring at his feet. He considered getting carried away to be high on his short list of flaws. Ash stepped closer until he was nearly under the Teyrn. As he approached, Loghain moved into a defensive stance, feet at an angle, legs slightly bent, hand inches from his blade. He knew something was coming, but he would not be fast enough. Cold dragonbone pierced his abdomen with supernatural speed before his hand had even begun to move. Ash looked up at him with wide eyes.

Pulses of hot, electrifying power traveled through Ash's veins from his right hand through his arm and up into his head. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, biting his lip to stifle sounds of delight. Half a second passed before an arm was moving towards him. At the apex of its swing, the arm stood still, twitching. Ash opened his eyes to see steel glinting in the moonlight above him. Loghain's face contorted with both pain and effort as he tried to complete his strike at Ash. The white-knuckled hand clutching the dirk stuttered forward randomly, but always snapped back into place. With one hand still on the hilt of his dagger, Ash grabbed Loghain by his hair, pulling him down to face him. For the first time, he saw in this man the unmistakable look of fear.

The dirk fell to the ground, its tip sticking in the dirt. Ash prayed that Loghain was still lucid enough to see the elation in his face. He gripped the dagger and twisted, slowly at first, but then violently so he could feel the flesh tear. Loghain grunted and blood dribbled from his parted lips. His body threatened to collapse, but Ash held him up straight. The effort required to hold the weight of such a body was now negligible. He could hear a brook bubbling a mile to the west, and the breath of a bird in a tree high above. Though the moon was still high in the sky, Ash could see vivid shades of yellow and green to either side, brighter and sharper than the most expensive pigments. A rich, velvety red seeped out onto his hand. Each time Loghain's heart beat, his consciousness spiked and he felt closer to godhood. His hips quivered. The heart beat faster and faster as more blood escaped the wound. Normally, he would have released this energy by now in the form of a shower of electricity or a cloud of poison, but he let it simmer in his flesh, threatening to take over his mind but filling him with ecstasy. The hands of demons reached through the Veil to poke him, caress him, latch on to him with sharp claws.

He withdrew the dagger from the ragged wound he created, turned it in his hand, and pushed it slowly into Loghain's side. The man's jaw shuddered and his blue eyes were growing dull. His breaths came in labored gasps when he breathed at all. With his heightened senses, Ash could tell when skin and fat turned into muscle and muscle into viscera. The sensation drew a whimper out of him. He paused to speak in a hushed tone. “My darling, can you still hear me?” he breathed. The Teyrn moved his mouth to speak but only dribbles of blood came out. Ash leaned in to speak in his ear. “You are mine. Your body is mine.” He had to hold himself back so he could squeeze out a few words before Loghain lost consciousness. “In battle. At night. When I wake up. Whenever I ask. You will offer your blood to me. That is the cost of your life.” Gently, he stroked Loghain’s hair as he tightened his grip on the dagger. 

Ash shoved the blade all the way in. He released a whiny moan as sensation overtook him. His back arched and he clutched the man closer to him. It was so good. This was everything he had dreamed of and more. Nothing had come even close to this in the years since that night in the bathroom. His blood was on fire, burning every part of his body. The demons dug their claws into him, in his skin and mouth and eyes, and pulled as hard as they could. The mortal world began to feel farther and farther away. The voices called to him as they always did, with their sweet, seductive sound. They wanted both the power and fragility of his mortal body, and Ash took pleasure in letting them beg. They cried and cried until Ash could feel that it was time to pull away. When he finally opened his eyes, he nearly fell over. The weight of Loghain’s body pressed against him, but he remembered to hold it up magically before they both fell down. Gasping for breath, he held the man out in front of him. His eyes were still open and he still sputtered out an occasional breath. Ash watched intently as Loghain stared back at him, for what seemed like an eternity, until his eyes finally closed.

When morning came, Ash was already wide awake. He had relieved Oghren of the last watch of the night so he knew he would be awake before anyone else. He sat on a log by the embers of the fire, watching the tent across from him through the thin mist. His companions slowly began to emerge from their tents, silently scratching their heads and wiping the sleep from their eyes. Zevran rubbed his shoulder affectionately and began packing up their tent. All was as normal, except one person was sleeping in unusually long. When Loghain finally emerged from his tent, he looked about him as if he could not believe his eyes. He had not yet donned his armor, and he rubbed his stomach absent-mindedly. The bags under his eyes had lessened somewhat and he seemed alert and rested. When he finally noticed Ash watching him, he stared. Ash returned the stare with the slightest of smiles, moving just one corner of his lips and nothing else. For a moment they remained like this, invisible to the rest of the party. Loghain continued to watch in silence as Ash stood up, taking his bag with him, and resumed preparations to embark on another day on the road.

**Author's Note:**

> tl;dr the spirit healer/blood mage combo is op


End file.
